


under your spell

by vtforpedro



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Universe, Dubious Consent, Fae Credence Barebone, Fae Magic, M/M, Open to Interpretation, POV Original Percival Graves, Sinister Undertones, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Unsettling, Weirdness, cause of fae magic, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Percival Graves is called to investigate a strange murder in the woods of Upstate New York and falls into a world of magic that is more sinister than it initially appears.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	under your spell

Graves’ department doesn’t often get called in for magical animal activity, whether a death has been involved or not.  
  
There are other departments for it, and it’s unusual to get a request for aid from them.  
  
But after a third death Upstate in the Debar Mountain Wild Forest in as many days, for what is suspected human activity, the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures asks the Auror department to step in. While they suspect humans are killing witches and wizards, they have never seen anything like it before, only referring to it as _werewolf-like_ but not done by werewolves.  
  
They suspect it might be a witch or wizard mimicking the way claws and teeth tear apart flesh and bone, and if it is, Graves would rather see them taken down as quickly as possible before word gets out. There are no known spells to cause that sort of damage, but they come across unknown spells often enough.  
  
The forest is large and impossible to track down anyone who might live in it, but perhaps they’re taking their victims out to the woods, and Graves’ department can find a lead back into human populations.  
  
Graves Disapparates Upstate with Fontaine and a few of his seniors. _Magical Creatures_ leads them to the latest body found by an unfortunate no-maj who has already been Obliviated and seen safely home. It is in the middle of nowhere, they see, when they look at a map of the location and the nearest small town is located miles and miles away.  
  
They have to be bringing their victims out here then. There’s no plausible explanation for it otherwise.  
  
The body is heavily disfigured from deep claw marks and sharp teeth. It does look like a werewolf would be responsible upon first glance, but studying the body for longer, Graves starts to see the subtle differences. Werewolves are animals during transformation, no longer capable of higher human thought, and they, as most predators do, go for the throat first.  
  
That’s occurred here, but it’s been done last, not first. The claw marks on the body seem to have a serrated edge, not like a werewolf, and some are, while still gruesome, not enough for death. To cause pain, to cause torment, and even those that are across the soft and vulnerable belly aren’t deep enough to cause organ injury or disembowelment.  
  
The wizard’s wand is nowhere in sight and no spell can locate it. There’s no magical activity at all here, so he didn’t have the luxury of trying to defend himself with magic, but he did try and defend himself otherwise. Defensive wounds on his arms show that plainly and there’s a discarded branch that had been used, claw marks deep into the wood, snapping it in a few places.  
  
No blood from whoever did this was spilled, _Magical Creatures_ has already looked for it, and Graves finds it troubling. They all do, he can see, a sense of disquiet in the woods, and they keep their voices down when speaking to each other. Not out of respect for the dead, but because there’s an eerie feeling here, and Graves only notices it when he peers at his Aurors and sees that they look uncomfortable.  
  
Fontaine meets his gaze and he’s troubled too, shaking his head.  
  
“We should comb the woods,” Graves says. “Get a decent portion looked at, see if we come up with anything. Send for the rest of your team and we’ll do a few square miles.”  
  
“Hope we don’t find any more gruesome surprises along the way,” Fontaine says dryly. “Will do, Percy.”  
  
It takes a couple of hours of planning once twenty or so Aurors arrive to assign who goes where and how to perform the search efficiently and before the sun starts to set. It’s June, so they’ve got time, and Graves hopes they find some kind of clue, but he thinks it isn’t going to be that easy.  
  
He never has much optimism, that’s how feelings and egos get bruised, but they would only need to find one thing that may break the case, and fortunately, at crime scenes, they often find those.  
  
Graves walks with Fontaine through their portion of the forest, about thirty feet apart, brushing aside ferns and using their wands to look for anything hidden on the forest floor. He uses a spell often to detect blood, but the couple of times it does, he finds the remains of a squirrel and what he assumes was a rabbit, based on the fur.  
  
It’s beautiful here, always will be, but Graves has a hard time appreciating it these days. It’s warm right now, sticky and uncomfortable in his suit, but Graves has far worse memories of these forests from growing up in the Graves manor only an hour or so away from here.  
  
They used to be an escape from the stifling manor, out into the cool, fresh air under the canopy of trees or sitting on the river nearby, skipping rocks on the water and counting the days until he got to go back to Ilvermorny. Counting the days until he never had to go back to the manor again. He hasn’t seen his father in a few years, which means he’s due around soon, if for nothing else than to annoy Graves.  
  
He’s hardly scared of his father anymore, but it does always leave a sour taste in his mouth for a week or so after.  
  
“Water east of here,” Fontaine calls, his voice echoing through the tall trees and off of the thick growth covering the forest floor.  
  
“Creek,” Graves says. “Take a look.”  
  
Fontaine lumbers off toward the creek and Graves continues walking. He’s going to need a shower after this, he thinks irritably. No spells will be satisfactory enough to get the sweat off.  
  
Graves steps into a small clearing, glancing around it. Woodpeckers and other songbirds are flitting between the trees, and he sees a squirrel run up the trunk of a tall pine. The clearing isn’t large, only twenty feet across, but the trees have grown in an almost perfect circle and at the base of each tree is a mushroom. Graves has seen these before, mushrooms that grow in circles, and he vaguely remembers folklore about it and doesn’t remember the actual explanation for why they do.  
  
There’s something in the middle of the clearing, a stick that is out of place, and Graves recognizes it for what it is when he walks to it. He sighs as he raises his hand and the wand lifts from the ground.  
  
It’s a short wand and broken in the middle, the wampus hair in the core barely holding it together.  
  
As Graves peers at it, he frowns. The hair in the core has faded and there’s old mold on the inside of the wood. It’s dried out in such a way that Graves knows this wand doesn’t belong to the wizard that was found today. Graves thinks by the wand’s age, or when it broke, this belonged to someone else entirely.  
  
More victims and they may never find a body.  
  
Graves crosses the clearing and steps out of it, the broken wand following at his side, and he frowns as he looks out at the forest.  
  
It seems much darker than it had only a moment ago. There’s a sense of unease as he looks around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Graves pulls his wand and backs to the clearing. He is about to call for his closest Aurors to have more eyes on the area, but as Graves steps into the clearing, he bumps into a tree.  
  
With a frown, Graves looks around and sees that the clearing is gone. There is no circle of trees, no mushrooms that line them, and the forest is colder, less like the June warmth.  
  
The air feels tight and oppressive, and Graves doesn’t know what’s happening, but he senses he’s in genuine danger.  
  
He casts a revealing spell but it doesn’t detect anyone nearby. Graves is still sweating, but it’s a cold sweat now, and he turns the way he’d come from, walking through the trees and heading southeast, where the body is and where he can gather his team.  
  
Graves keeps a firm hold of his wand and listens for anything abnormal, footsteps or a crack of a stick that’s too loud, anything, while twenty-some years of being an Auror keeps his mind attuned for the specific sensation of knowing someone is close.  
  
Someone is close.  
  
He feels them suddenly and stops walking, lifting his wand as he turns around. The forest seems brighter again as he does, sunlight cast over the various shades of greens and browns and yellows and warmth touches his skin. Not the warmth of June, but a comfortable warmth anyway, and Graves, for the first time in a long time, finds himself afraid.  
  
This is not normal magic, but it _is_ magic. Graves can feel that now, crackling in the air, unfamiliar to him. He knows if he called for help, no one would come, but he’s not sure how he knows that.  
  
Graves casts another revealing spell and looks to his left, pointing his wand at the person the spell senses.  
  
He’s not anything like Graves was expecting.  
  
He’s lounging on a low, thick branch of a tree, barefoot and in tan trousers that stop above his ankle, his shirt more reminiscent of something someone would find in a different era. Loose and white, the collar low and opened wide.  
  
The man has dark hair and pale skin, his brown eyes bright and curious as he watches Graves, and he’s holding a handful of red berries, slowly eating them. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.  
  
Graves thinks he might have been hit with a spell and is imagining this. “And you are?” he asks sternly.  
  
The man smiles, just a little, like he’s amused, and eats another berry. “I should ask you that,” he says. “I don’t see many people out here.”  
  
“No?” Graves asks and knows that's not true. “You don’t know anything about the deaths occurring here?”  
  
He shrugs. “People wander in sometimes,” he says. “They get turned around and have a hard time finding their way back out. But it’s not often these days.”  
  
Graves peers at him as the man eats more berries, and sees his fingers are stained red. “No, I imagine not,” he says. “But you know that’s not what I mean.”  
  
The man smiles. It’s a carefree and relaxed smile, as if he often is out in the middle of the woods eating unidentifiable berries and running into Aurors.  
  
“The mutilated bodies,” he says. “You’re here to find who did it.”  
  
Graves watches him for a while. “That’s right,” he says and gestures. “Get down. I’d advise giving me your wand before I take it from you.”  
  
“Wand,” the man repeats with amusement. “I don’t have a wand.” But he slides off of the lower branch anyway, still holding a small pile of berries, and steps closer until Graves holds up his hand. “What’s your name?”  
  
“We’ll make introductions later,” Graves says. He twirls his wand but there is no wand on the man to summon. He’s not a no-maj, that much is clear, he knows Graves is a wizard and there’s magic on the air. A strong bit of magic and Graves isn’t entirely sure if it’s coming from the man himself or enchantments he doesn’t recognize. “What do you know about the mutilated bodies?”  
  
“They died violent deaths,” the man says and eats another berry, licking the blood-red juice off his thumb. “Are you an Auror from the city?”  
  
Graves suspects this man knows who he is, but then he is peering at Graves like he’s genuinely curious, like he might not know his name. And that would be just about impossible these days unless he lives a secluded life in the sprawling wild forests. He very well could, with little contact with larger towns and cities, a small village that MACUSA may not be aware of.  
  
“I am,” Graves says. “Where do you live?”  
  
“Not far from here,” the man says and gestures over his shoulder. “You look uncomfortable.”  
  
Graves smiles shortly. “This is an uncomfortable situation,” he says. He still feels like he’s very much in danger and separated from his colleagues, with no real way to know how to reach them. “Is there a wizarding village that way?”  
  
“A village, yes,” the man says with a faint smile and steps closer. “It’s alright, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.”  
  
“I’m not too concerned,” Graves says, a blatant lie. “And I would like to trust that, but my job means trusting very little.”  
  
“Well,” the man says and eats another berry. “How about we introduce ourselves now and I’ll lead you back to the others? That’s a good first step, I think, for establishing trust.”  
  
Graves chuckles. “For you, yes,” he says. “It would be wise for you to lead me back to them and very, _very_ foolish to attempt to lead me somewhere else.”  
  
He can’t Disapparate, and that, more than anything, puts the fear in his blood.  
  
“My name is Credence,” the man says and steps closer until Graves raises his eyebrows and he holds up a hand in surrender. “I’ll take you back, but we have to go south.”  
  
Graves eyes Credence before he nods shortly and steps aside, keeping his wand trained on him. “Go on then,” he says. “What’s your surname?”  
  
“I don’t have one,” Credence laughs, the sound musical, like tinkling bells. “It’s easier to remember just one name, don’t you think?”  
  
Graves raises an eyebrow as Credence walks by him. He appears to be an inch or so taller than Graves, leaner but not unhealthily so, and Graves would guess he’s in his late-twenties. He’d guess Credence is strange too, but the entire situation is strange and unknown, two things Graves is not fond of.  
  
“I find it easy enough to remember both names,” Graves says as he watches Credence walk ahead of him. He doesn’t look down as he walks, but he avoids sticks and rocks and other debris on the forest floor as if he senses where they are. “What’s the name of your village?”  
  
“We only call it _the village,”_ Credence says. “I don’t think it’ll be on your maps.” He sounds amused and looks over his shoulder at Graves. “Auror…?”  
  
“Graves,” Graves says dryly. “Director Graves, if you must.”  
  
“Director is an odd first name.”  
  
“So is Credence.”  
  
“I like my name,” Credence says. “I like to not belong to anyone with a surname.”  
  
“You think a surname means you belong to someone?”  
  
“To a family, yes. That’s their point,” Credence says as he continues walking at a leisurely pace. “I don’t like belonging to anyone, a family or not. Do you like belonging to the Graves family?”  
  
Graves huffs a laugh. “My family is well known and respected in New York,” he says. “But I’ve made my name my own.”  
  
“See? So have I,” Credence says and stops abruptly.  
  
Graves raises his wand higher but he sees that Credence has spotted another berry bush sitting between two trees. He picks them slowly and Graves sees there are many long thorns throughout the bush. He’s never seen the berries before, perfectly round like blueberries but the blood-red color that has stained Credence’s fingers.  
  
Another odd thing, to know so many plants as he does, but to not recognize this one when he grew up in these woods.  
  
“You’re a very serious man,” Credence says and frowns when he nicks himself on a thorn. “Do you have a very serious name?”  
  
“I have a strong feeling you know my name, Credence,” Graves says as he watches him. Blood beads up on Credence’s thumb, but he doesn’t make any move to heal it, so he must not be able to use wandless magic. Or he doesn’t know how to use healing magic. “Let me see your hand.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Credence says. “The price I have to pay for picking the berries.”  
  
It doesn’t entirely sound like he’s joking but Graves sighs and gestures for Credence’s hand.  
  
Credence frowns and moves closer, cradling the freshly picked berries against his shirt, and offers Graves his hand.  
  
Graves runs his hand over the wound to heal it and notes that Credence’s hands are soft. Very soft, no scars at all on them, and not the calloused hands of someone who does any sort of labor, so he must know how to use magic, to live in the woods and not.  
  
“Thank you, Director Graves,” Credence says, and there’s something strange in his voice. Something almost intimate and Graves looks at him. Credence is smiling faintly. “You didn’t use your wand.”  
  
“No,” Graves agrees and feels strange himself. Credence’s eyes are brown, dark brown, but something is captivating about them. Something captivating about Credence. “I find healing magic easier to use without a wand.”  
  
“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”  
  
“I’m not a usual man.”  
  
Credence laughs, and his smile is broad and genuine. Incredibly attractive too, and Graves knows he needs to find his colleagues because he doesn’t like where his thoughts are going. He doesn’t like the strangeness of it all, feeling as if he’s not entirely in control of himself, more so when Credence is closer. He doesn’t like how Credence is looking at him like he might have similar thoughts about Graves’ attractiveness.  
  
“Come on, let’s keep moving,” Graves says, gesturing forward.  
  
“Don’t worry. I’ll take you back,” Credence says with a smile. “But I want to know the name of a very unusual man.”  
  
Graves sighs and watches Credence eat another berry. “Percival Graves,” he says. “Director Graves, though, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“Percival Graves,” Credence repeats, like he’s testing it on his tongue. “Do your friends call you Percy?”  
  
“They call me Director Graves.”  
  
Credence laughs. “Such a serious and unusual man,” he says and holds out his hand, offering the berries.  
  
Graves raises his eyebrows. “No, thank you. Keep walking, Credence.”  
  
“They’re not poisonous, you know.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Graves says. “It doesn’t take long to build up an immunity to poisonous berries.”  
  
Credence huffs and eats another one. “They’re only sundew berries. Sweeter than raspberries,” he says. “They grow best at the start of summer.”  
  
“That’s very nice. Keep moving.”  
  
“Alright, Percival Graves,” Credence says with a smile. His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You’ll regret not trying one.”  
  
Graves watches Credence and he’s having a hard time concentrating on his surroundings. The air feels thick and warm and he’s unexpectedly drowsy. As if he’s been walking for hours, which isn’t the case. He frowns as he watches Credence, who is peering at him with a smile still, and the interest in his gaze is startling.  
  
He’s interested in Graves in more than one way, and Graves feels a little like prey in the sightline of a predator.  
  
But it’s not fear he feels anymore. That’s dissipating quickly. Graves is so used to being the predator with criminals in his sightline, and it’s bizarre, yes, but it makes the blood beneath his skin burn.  
  
He thinks he could kiss Credence, and Credence would let him, would enjoy it, but Graves can’t think about that. He needs to get back to his Aurors and away from Credence. Or arrest him, question him, find out what he knows about the murders because he knows something.  
  
“Percy,” Credence says and steps closer. “Try one.”  
  
Graves looks at the proffered berries and Credence again. He’s smiling faintly, but there’s something strange about his smile, something that’s not quite right. But Graves has a hard time focusing on that too because the way Credence said _Percy_ is echoing in his mind and he finds he likes his name on Credence’s lips.  
  
“Something isn’t right,” Graves mutters and tightens his hand on his wand.  
  
“You’ll feel better,” Credence says. “I promise.”  
  
Graves furrows his brow and looks down at the berries. They’re all the same size, perfectly ripe, with no dark spots or bruising from birds pecking at them. He takes one of them, slightly firm, and he can smell the sweetness of it before he puts it in his mouth.  
  
It is very sweet, a burst of flavor not unlike a ripe raspberry, but deeper and something that reminds him of wine, rather than summer berries. Sweet red wine and he doesn’t know what sundew berries are, but he doesn’t blame Credence for enjoying them.  
  
He’d like more, but he knows he should keep walking.  
  
Credence plucks a berry off of his palm and moves it to Graves’ lips. He thinks he should pull away. He should curse Credence for getting too close, but Credence’s eyes are dark, and he’s not smiling anymore, but he looks pleased. It’s as attractive as his smile.  
  
Graves takes the berry from his fingers as he watches him and Credence does smile then. His fingers move to Graves’ jaw and along his cheek, pleasantly cool.  
  
“Percy,” Credence says softly. “Put your wand away and leave the other to the forest. Follow me. I’ll take you home.”  
  
It’s the last thing he should do, Graves knows. He should be prepared to fight for his life, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep looking at Credence, he wants to see Credence keep looking at him, and Graves isn’t quite aware of it when he puts his wand away and leaves the broken one behind.  
  
Credence takes his hand and leads him through the forest. It’s still warm, but as they walk, it gets darker. Like light is steadily being dimmed and the air feels thinner. It’s hard to breathe in but Credence tells Graves to eat a berry, and whenever he does, the air doesn’t feel so impossible to pull into his lungs.  
  
The sun has set, Graves realizes, the forest dark around them, but they’re walking on a path that’s lit by paper lanterns. They bob through the air, their light golden and orange, magic, and Graves knows it’s a different sort of magic than the one he’s used to.  
  
It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s a warm magic but there’s something dangerous in it as well. But Graves isn’t afraid, he doesn’t feel as if Credence will harm him, and though he does hesitate when he begins to hear voices, Credence only smiles and beckons him on, and Graves follows.  
  
The village opens to them, not like any wizarding village Graves has ever seen. It’s in the heart of the forest, and homes are built around the trees, rather than trees cut down to make room. There’s a faint orange glow around all of it, which makes it look ethereal, and Graves sees that the homes aren’t entirely homes either.  
  
There are no closed in walls, only branches to give some semblance of privacy, and some are high up in the trees, stairs or ladders leading to them. In the middle of the village there is a clearing, a large one, and numerous people are there. Some are dancing around a fire, others are sitting at tables drinking red wine and laughing, and some are paired together, sharing an intimacy that would be considered indecent in Manhattan.  
  
It’s strange. The people are strange, dressed similarly to Credence, barefoot and with soft clothing, not anything for fashion but comfort. Women and men alike are dressed this way, no dresses or fine suits.  
  
There are no children that Graves can see.  
  
Some people are dressed differently, he notices. Some are dressed like everyday people in Manhattan, like he is, sitting with one of the villagers, often engaged in laughter or conversation or something more intimate.  
  
It smells sweet here, like the sweet red wine they’re drinking, like sugared berries and sap and honey. Graves’ mind feels hazy, sluggish like he’s already had a few too many, but he’s warm and comfortable, and everyone here is joyful, not a bad mood in sight, and he feels more at ease than he thinks he has been anywhere else.  
  
He feels like he wouldn’t mind staying here for a while.  
  
Credence takes him to a table, just for them, and puts a glass of red wine in his hand. Made from sundew berries, as Graves had expected, and Graves drinks. Credence does as well, his hand on Graves’ thigh, and when he asks Graves about his life, Graves tells him.  
  
He tells Credence whatever he wants to know. About his childhood, his time in Ilvermorny, in MACUSA, his friendships and his lack of relationships and the reasons for that. Credence doesn’t ask for MACUSA’s secrets, but Graves knows he would tell him them if he did and doesn’t see why he shouldn’t.  
  
Credence is beautiful in the orange glow of the village, his eyes bright and his laughter is airy and light, his smile wide and cheerful. He tastes sweet when he kisses Graves, like berries and sugar, making Graves feel drunker than the wine does.  
  
When Credence asks if he wants to dance, Graves can’t refuse.  
  
The laughter and loud conversations of those around, the music, playful and quick, make his head spin, but Credence is there to keep him balanced. He doesn’t know how long they dance, loose and easy or intimate and slow, but it could be hours.  
  
It could be days.  
  
They eat feasts, more than one, full of roasted meats and hearty vegetables, and numerous sweet loaves of bread and other sweet desserts. An endless amount of sundew wine, and Graves speaks with people he doesn’t know, feels at home with these strange people, laughs with them, and kisses Credence in between it all.  
  
Graves feels like it’s been days since they’ve stepped into the village, but the sun has yet to come up, and Credence takes his hand and leads him to a home high in one of the trees. They climb into it and it’s not much more than a bed made from numerous feather-stuffed pillows and blankets.  
  
There are trinkets on shelves, odd things, inconsequential, a broken compass and a rusty hunting knife, two broken wands, and an expensive silver watch that doesn’t tick.  
  
“Things I’ve found in the forest,” Credence says as he sits on the end of his bed.  
  
“The compass is old,” Graves says and sits next to Credence. “Why do you keep them?”  
  
“Why does anyone keep things that remind them of certain times?” Credence asks and moves his hand to Graves’ cheek, pulling him close and kissing him.  
  
Graves isn’t sure what he means, but kissing Credence has become one of his favorite things. When they part, he sees the way Credence is looking at him and smiles.  
  
“You have me, Credence.”  
  
Credence smiles and runs his fingers through Graves’ hair. “I know I do,” he says. “Get undressed. I want to make love.”  
  
Graves is faintly relieved he hadn’t suggested it outside in front of everyone, as he’s seen that countless times already, but Graves thinks if Credence asked, he still wouldn’t say no.  
  
He undresses and watches Credence do the same. He’s lean, yes, but he’s lean the way a runner is, strong still and stunning in the orange glow of the village. There are no scars on his body, no imperfections, and Graves has never seen someone so beautiful.  
  
Credence kisses Graves when they’re bare and pushes him down onto his back, straddling his waist. Graves holds him and they stay like that for a long while, kissing and touching each other and Credence’s moan is as sweet as he is when Graves rocks up against him.  
  
“I want you in me,” Credence whispers when they pull apart, looking down at Graves, his eyes heavy with arousal. “Do you want to be in me?”  
  
“Yes,” Graves sighs and slides his hands along Credence’s back. “Merlin, yes. I’d love to be.”  
  
Credence smiles and kisses Graves once more. He sits up and reaches for one of the shelves, pulling down a clay pot. He opens it and it smells sweet too, whatever it is, and Credence uses his fingers to gather a slick mixture. Lubricant for this, made from natural things in the forest, Graves suspects, and magic too.  
  
Graves groans when Credence spreads it on his cock, slow and teasing. “Wait,” he says when Credence moves over him after. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says when Credence looks at him.  
  
Credence laughs. “You won’t,” he says. “You’re sweet, Percy. You’re not going to hurt me. Not ever.” He smiles as he holds Graves’ cock and when he sinks down on him, it’s with no resistance at all. He moans and tips his head back, his hands resting on Graves’ stomach.  
  
Graves is taken by the sudden heat and slickness of being inside of Credence. Of how easily he was, how good it is, and he holds onto Credence’s thighs and stares up at him, magnificent in the orange and golden light, the tree branches casting darker shadows across his skin. He looks otherworldly and Graves wants to stay like this, just like this, until the end of time.  
  
When Credence moves, it’s with the practiced ease of someone who has done this many times, and Graves loves that it is. That Credence moves the way he wants to, as hard and fast or as gentle and leisurely as he feels like, and Graves can only admire him as he does.  
  
He tells Credence how beautiful he is, how he wants to be with him, how he wants to fuck him like this every day, and Credence smiles and tells him he will.  
  
Credence moans and says _Percy,_ over and over again like a mantra. They’re both sweating, the air heavier here, but it makes Credence’s skin glow all the more. He slides his hands along Graves’ stomach and his arms and when he tells Graves to come, he does.  
  
He comes inside of Credence with a groan and watches Credence tilt his head back, as if feeling Graves coming inside of him is as good as the lead up had been.  
  
Graves strokes Credence’s cock, long and flushed beautifully, until Credence comes with a shout, his body hot and tightening around Graves in a divine way. He’s trembling when he leans down and Graves holds him tight, breathing deeply with him.  
  
Credence kisses Graves for a while and he doesn’t go far when he rolls off of him. Graves cleans the mess, clumsier than usual with his own magic, and when Credence tells him to rest for a few hours it’s not hard to do.  
  
Time passes unusually here. Graves isn’t sure if it’s a very long night or multiple nights. No one ever seems to sleep, only disappearing into their homes made of twisting branches for a while before they’ve joined another feast. Another dance, another conversation, laughter loud and endless.  
  
When Graves asks Credence what they’re celebrating, Credence says the summer solstice with a mischievous grin.  
  
He wants to make love often and Graves finds he doesn’t tire like he usually might. It’s the village, he knows, but he enjoys it here. Enjoys Credence, enjoys making love to him. Credence often sits on his lap, and Graves thinks he should be embarrassed when they’re at a table near everyone else, but it’s hard to care when he watches Credence move, when he says Graves’ name.  
  
It’s slower when they’re in Credence’s bed. They touch and kiss each other more, and Credence whispers his name reverentially each time Graves comes inside him.  
  
Credence likes to be inside of Graves too. He praises Graves when he is in a way no one else has, and there’s an immense vulnerability in it, but Graves finds sharing vulnerability with Credence is as easy as breathing. He trusts what he says and knows he means it.  
  
Even in front of others doing the same thing, it’s easier. He feels no hesitation and wants to give Credence whatever he desires.  
  
Graves asks Credence what day it is after another feast and Credence tells him it’s the summer solstice. A day of celebration, and Graves thinks it must be the tenth summer solstice in a row, but maybe it’s only been one night.  
  
Things get hazier. Feasting and drinking sweet wine, talking with strangers, making love to Credence, it blends together. Graves thinks he could spend every night for the rest of his life like this, and when he tells Credence that in bed, Credence laughs and kisses him and pushes inside of him.  
  
“I like you, Percy,” Credence says and gazes down at Graves with a smile as he rocks into him. “I think I want to keep you.”  
  
“By all means, keep me,” Graves says and chuckles when Credence grins. He tips his head back and groans as Credence pushes in deep. “You’re insatiable, love.”  
  
“You’re beautiful,” Credence says as he rolls his hips, his hand in Graves’ hair and the other under his knee, holding his leg up. “I need as much of you in me before the solstice ends as I can get. You need me in you too.”  
  
“Fuck,” Graves grunts when Credence thrusts harder. “Yeah? Why’s that?”  
  
Credence kisses Graves. “It gives me years,” he says softly. “So many years.” He moves his lips along Graves’ jaw and neck. “I’m giving you years too.”  
  
“Years?” Graves asks as he runs his hand along Credence’s back, slick with sweat.  
  
“Years to spend with you,” Credence says against the heated skin of Graves’ neck. He looks down at Graves as he fucks him harder, a firm thrust of his hips. “For the bond. So I never have to let you go.”  
  
“You’ll never have to,” Graves says, and his sigh of pleasure trembles. He groans and tightens his fingers against the skin of Credence’s back. “Fuck, love, just like that.”  
  
Credence thrusts into Graves, their foreheads pressed together if they’re not kissing, and it’s too hot, too sweaty, but Graves doesn’t want it to end. Still, when Credence’s moans are higher and more desperate, he tells him to come inside of him.  
  
Graves likes feeling Credence’s come inside of him as much as Credence likes Graves’. He’s so beautiful, Graves thinks, as he watches Credence, the pleasure on his face, the way he looks at Graves and says his name.  
  
“It’s almost over,” Credence says as he finishes, breathing deeply, his hair stuck to his forehead. “I want to make love until it is.”  
  
“What is?” Graves asks and grunts when Credence pushes in deep again, while he’s still hard. He pulls out of Graves then, and when he slicks Graves’ cock with lubricant, Graves is ready to come, so close already, but Credence straddles him and takes him in, while his come is still hot and slick in between Graves’ thighs.  
  
Graves comes quickly when Credence rolls his hips, sensitive from being fucked and unbearably turned on by him, and Credence looks even more satisfied than he usually does when Graves fills him.  
  
He doesn’t know what Credence means by it giving them both years, but if it makes Credence satisfied, if it puts a smile on his face, Graves will give him whatever he wants.  
  
They make love three more times before Credence tells Graves to rest.  
  
“It’ll be over when you wake up,” Credence says as Graves holds him.  
  
“What will?”  
  
“The solstice,” Credence says and gently kisses Graves. “But we’ll always be together. Until the end of time. I want to keep you.”  
  
Graves smiles. “You’ve got me. Until the end of time,” he says and kisses Credence in return.  
  
He looks at Credence when they break apart, and Credence’s eyes are completely black. Strange as all things are here but beautiful. He runs his fingers through Graves’ hair and strokes his side until he’s lulled to sleep.  
  
When Graves wakes, he’s immensely groggy. His eyes are heavy and it’s hard to open them. He manages to, wincing when he sees sunlight. His entire body feels sluggish, like he’s been asleep for too long, far too long, and he has trouble recalling where he is.  
  
He looks around and recognizes his apartment. Recognizes the sofa that he’s sitting on, recognizes the soft clothes he’s dressed in. It’s morning, judging by the light, and he looks out of his floor to ceiling windows, seeing the Manhattan skyline. It’s a clear blue sky today, and Central Park is bright green and the apartment is comfortable, the way it always is in summer.  
  
Graves frowns. He wasn’t sitting on his sofa when he fell asleep. He knows that and yet he can’t recall where he was. He can’t recall anything and it’s an alarming thought. It makes his heart race, and he looks down at a book on his lap, his fingers still in between two pages.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Graves flinches and glances to his right at the man sitting on the other end of the sofa. He’s lounging, his feet pressed against Graves’ thigh, and Graves stares at him.  
  
Credence.  
  
He looks different, Graves realizes. His hair is cut to a more modern style and he’s in soft pajama pants and a white cotton shirt. There’s nothing strange about him, which is the biggest difference of all. He looks like an everyday late-twenties-year-old man, and he’s peering at Graves with concern.  
  
“You fell asleep.”  
  
Graves blinks at him and frowns. Credence is reading as well, a book Graves has never heard of when he glances at the cover. He looks at Credence before something catches his eye on the wall behind them. There are numerous silver-framed photos in a collage of sorts and Graves turns to look at them.  
  
Most are of Graves and Credence. Smiling and laughing and waving at him. At summer festivals, in Central Park, in the Fontaines’ household, with Eliza, on vacations to beaches and unfamiliar forests. Graves stares at them, his heart racing, and looks at Credence.  
  
“Percy, are you okay?”  
  
Graves sees the blanket on the sofa folded neatly behind Credence, not one he’s ever seen before. A quick look around the apartment shows him more of these little things. Smaller framed photos on the bookshelves, books he doesn’t recognize, a sketchpad on the coffee table, multiple magical plants, things he’s never had in his apartment.  
  
None of this was in his apartment when he was last here and Graves tries to remember when that was. It’s so hazy, but he remembers the forest.  
  
He remembers Credence, sitting on a low branch of a tree, eating blood-red berries and watching Graves curiously.  
  
The village comes back to him, its eerie orange glow, the way people were dressed, the way they laughed and drank and danced and ate, as if they could never stop, the way people were intimate together, so out in the open.  
  
Including Credence and Graves.  
  
It seemed right in the moment. It was the best Graves had ever felt, and yet now, thinking of it, it makes him break out in a cold sweat.  
  
There was nothing normal about it. It was heavy magic, heavy enchantments, hours and days mixing, the sense of time passing warped enough that he could never determine if a single night or an entire month had passed.  
  
There’s something sinister about the village now. Something sinister about the people that lived in it, that brought people from the normal world inside, who poisoned them with berries and magic, who made love to them, who kept trinkets from the previous people they’d done it to.  
  
The bodies. They were investigating mutilated bodies in the forest. Multiple in a short time, the days before the summer solstice in June, and Graves thinks of Credence saying _I want to keep you._  
  
_I want to keep you_ _  
_ _  
_ _I won’t kill you_  
  
“Percy?” Credence asks. “Percy, please look at me.”  
  
Graves blinks a few times and looks at Credence, who is peering at him with a heavy amount of concern. “Credence,” he says quietly. He itches for his wand. “What happened?”  
  
Credence frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks and sets his book aside. He moves closer to Graves and nothing is threatening in it. He looks worried, he looks like he knows Graves, like he’s known him for years. “You just fell asleep. It’s okay. You had a long night at work.”  
  
“A long night at work,” Graves repeats. He doesn’t flinch away when Credence touches his thigh but only just. “In MACUSA.”  
  
“Where else?” Credence asks with a small huff of a laugh. “You must’ve been having a bad dream. Do you want some coffee?”  
  
“Sure,” Graves says and watches Credence smile. He gets up and walks into the kitchen and Graves looks around the living room.  
  
Credence is here, he lives here, and it would seem he has for a long time, but there was magic at work in the forest that Graves didn’t understand. That he’d never felt before.  
  
If Credence, who is not a wizard but something _other,_ has changed all of this, he did a poor job of making Graves forget. Because Graves never knew Credence before. Because Credence was only ever in that forest and he’d poisoned Graves’ mind, kept him trapped there without realizing it was a trap to begin with.  
  
Graves hears the coffee percolating and sees the _Herald_ folded on the coffee table. He grabs it and opens it, looking for the date.  
  
_Sunday, June 21st, 1931_  
  
Graves stares down at it, not quite comprehending what he’s seeing. It was June 20th, yes, he remembers that, but it was 1927 the day he left MACUSA for the forests Upstate.  
  
He looks at the articles, nothing particularly unusual about any of them, and that’s when he sees the silver ring on his finger. He stares at it for a while, a wedding band, and looks up at Credence when he brings two coffee mugs over.  
  
Credence is wearing a matching band of silver.  
  
Graves staggers to his feet, and when Credence frowns, he shakes his head and walks out of the living room with a muttered apology. He walks into his bedroom and sees differences here too.  
  
A bed that is shared, different sheets, still dark in color. There are two armchairs by the windows and another bookshelf. On the once bare wall between the windows and the bathroom door, there are more silver-framed photos, and Graves walks to them, feeling like he’s in a bad dream.  
  
Wedding photos, along with others. People he doesn’t know, even, people that he’s laughing with like they’re friends. Credence is always next to him, always grinning, and whenever they look at each other, there’s clear affection between them. Graves looks like he is wholly and inescapably in love with Credence and Credence looks much the same way.  
  
“You’re scaring me a little,” Credence’s voice says from the doorway behind Graves, small and nervous.  
  
It doesn’t sound like bullshit and yet Graves knows, knows as well as he’s known anything in life, that it is.  
  
He looks at Credence as he walks closer, frowning between Graves and the photos.  
  
“You normally smile when you look at those,” Credence says with an attempt at levity. “The best day of our lives.”  
  
“Was it?” Graves asks quietly.  
  
Credence raises his eyebrows and smiles. “I suppose there’s one that was even better,” he says. “The day we met.” He stops next to Graves and looks at the photos, then Graves.  
  
“The day you decided to keep me,” Graves says.  
  
“Well, I don’t know about the first day,” Credence says with some amusement. “But yeah, eventually. I’m pretty thankful you decided to keep me too.”  
  
Graves wants to ask when he decided that exactly, but he doesn’t. Credence wraps his arm around him and smiles at the photos before he looks at Graves, that smile broad and beautiful.  
  
Dangerous.  
  
“Come on, coffee is going to get cold,” Credence says and kisses Graves’ cheek. He pulls away and walks toward the bedroom door.  
  
Graves watches him. “Credence,” he says. Credence stops and looks at Graves with a smile. “What were our vows again?” He gestures at the picture of their wedding ceremony.  
  
Credence laughs. “You’ve got me,” he says, “until the end of time.”  
  
Graves’ heart is pounding and he feels sick. “How long until the end of time?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Credence says with a smile. “Every summer solstice, we promise each other more years. Maybe until we’re the last two people on earth.”  
  
“I don’t think you want to keep me that long,” Graves says.  
  
Credence shrugs. “I never wanted to keep anyone until I met you,” he says and smiles. “I’m going to keep you forever, Percy. We’ll always be together, remember?”  
  
Graves watches Credence walk out of the bedroom and looks at the framed photos on the wall.  
  
After they’ve been declared husband and husband at a ceremony that may or may not have occurred, Graves and Credence look out at their guests, and Graves sees himself, laughing and in love. He sees Credence, laughing and in love. His eyes are black.  
  
Strange and dangerous, and Graves knows he was trapped in that orange world, but he feels trapped in his world too, and when he looks at the ring on his finger, he doesn’t think he’ll escape.  
  
He doesn’t think Credence will let him.

Graves walks into the living room and sits on the sofa near Credence. He looks at the steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him before he looks at Credence. He’s holding a bowl and back to reading.

The bowl is full of blood-red berries.

“Try one,” Credence says and looks at Graves with a smile, holding out the bowl.  
  
“You’ll feel better, Percy. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Unusual and weird, I know, and there are things that can be open to interpretation here. But I certainly have my ideas :)
> 
> Inspired by various different things and I had to get it down last night. Now off to work on a long fic.
> 
> Thank you so very, very much to [Erin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire), [Cupcake](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cupcakefoggy) and Mom!!! <3333
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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